


The Most Sublime Is Brotherhood

by Celandine



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Incest, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-17
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George and Percy have dinner at their parents' every Sunday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Sublime Is Brotherhood

George insisted on reopening Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes less than a month after Fred's death, telling his parents that he couldn't stand to do _nothing_ , and that this was the best way to honor Fred's memory. He threw himself into the work, hiring an assistant to handle the shop while he carried on making the products and even tried to finish developing some things that he and Fred had talked about but never quite managed to do.

It was difficult, more so then he had expected: not the work itself so much as not having anyone to share it with. Time and time again he caught himself about to reach out to touch Fred, or to share a joke with him. The ache of loss was almost physical, but he resisted it, instead driving himself harder to make a success of things, for Fred's sake.

Every Sunday at his mother's insistence he went to the Burrow to see his family and have dinner. She made Percy come every week too, since he also lived alone. Bill and Fleur turned up at least once a month. Charlie lived too far away, and Ron and Ginny were both in Hogwarts finishing their last year, so most of the time it was George and Percy.

At the dinners, George put on a brave face, and if he laughed and joked less than he once had done, he didn't think his parents noticed. After a while, though, he realized that Percy kept a thoughtful eye on him.

"Why do you keep staring at me, then?" he finally asked one late spring afternoon, when they were playing a desultory game of wizarding chess. Their father was dozing with a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , and their mother was producing savory smells from the kitchen.

Percy's face reddened. He bent over the board, fiddling with his knight, moving it forward, then back again, without taking his hand away to finalize the move.

"Well?" George persisted. "You do stare, you can't deny it."

"I know you still miss him," Percy said at last, pushing his spectacles up his nose and looking at George with serious blue eyes.

A lump formed in George's throat. "Fred," he said hoarsely. "Say 'Fred,' not just 'him.'"

"I know you miss _Fred_." Percy reached across the table and put his hand on George's. His fingers were warm and dry. "I do, too, more than I'd have imagined I could, and believe me, I know what it's like to be missing someone in the family. I..." he paused and bit his lip. "I know it's nothing compared to how you feel. I envy you."

"What? Why on earth?" George stared at Percy.

"You had your best mate with you your whole life," Percy said quietly. "And it wasn't your doing that you lost him."

George understood what Percy meant. "But you got us back again, when you finally came to your senses," he pointed out.

Percy shrugged. "True, but... I'm still odd man out. 'Perfect Percy.' That's still how you think of me, isn't it?" He pulled his hand away. " _If_ you think of me at all, which I don't imagine you do."

"Of course I do." It was a half-lie. George thought of Percy every week, when they saw each other here at their parents' house, but it was true that he rarely did so at other times. He bit his lip.

"It's all right." Percy sounded resigned. "I don't expect you to."

George looked at his brother, really looked at him for the first time since they were children. Or maybe ever. Percy had the same expression that George saw every morning in his own mirror when he was cleaning his teeth or brushing his hair: determination that was not as far from despair as he wished it were. George ignored his bishop, which was jumping up and down and gesturing at him, and tentatively took Percy's hand again.

"I'm sorry, Perce," he said, meaning the apology not just for Percy's present state of mind, but for all the pranks that he and Fred had ever played on their uptight brother.

"You and Fred..." Percy hesitated. "You were very close, I know." He lowered his voice to whisper. "I heard you, more than once."

George tried to pull away, but now Percy had him in a firm grip. "So what?" he said truculently.

The squeeze to his fingers made him meet Percy's eyes. To his surprise he saw no condemnation there.

"It's all right. I just wanted to let you know that I knew." The flush on Percy's face nearly matched his hair. "I envied you _that_ , too."

A sudden loud snore from their father's armchair made George turn his head. "This probably isn't the best place to have this conversation."

"You're right." Percy's Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. "Would you like to come to my flat to talk about it sometime? Maybe Friday?"

George had only been to his brother's flat once before, but it was on the Floo network so he had no trouble reaching it, a few minutes after six o'clock the following Friday.

"Percy?" he called as he stepped from the fireplace and brushed the ash off off himself.

"Through here."

Following the sound of Percy's voice, George made his way back to the small kitchen.

"I'm not a very good cook," said Percy apologetically, indicating a row of cartons lined up on the counter, "so I brought in some takeaway curry. There's a fairly good Muggle Indian restaurant a couple of streets over."

"Smells good." George's mouth watered. "Anything I can do to help?"

Percy looked relieved. "Just grab a few spoons from that drawer to serve it, that's all."

Whatever the proper names of the dishes were -- George had no idea -- Percy's choices were wonderful. There were prawns in some sort of mild coconut sauce, a very spicy beef dish with peppers, and mixed vegetables in a tomato gravy, as well as plenty of fragrant rice and flat bread. George piled a little bit of everything on his plate, added a spoonful of cucumber and yogurt, and dug in with relish.

"Delicious," he mumbled through his first mouthful.

"I'm glad you like it." Percy sat opposite him. "I wondered if you weren't eating much; you've been looking thinner than you used to, almost as skinny as I am."

Percy was right. It always seemed like a lot of bother to cook for one, and George was usually more interested in carrying on with developing new products for the shop than wasting time in the kitchen. His mother sent leftovers back with him every Sunday, but once he'd eaten those, it was usually just a quick sandwich, or if he was feeling expansive, a tin of soup warmed up. Not that they'd been fancy about the cooking when Fred was alive, but they'd taken it in turn to make fry-ups and similar sorts of meals.

"No, I haven't," he admitted.

They made somewhat desultory conversation over the rest of the meal, both more interested in the food than anything else just yet. Percy poured them each a large glass of lager, and when they finished eating, they sat on Percy's sofa, drinking. George wasn't sure how to return to the conversation of the previous weekend. He'd thought about it all week; he'd never really considered before how isolated Percy must have always felt. Charlie and Bill had been best mates, and so had he and Fred, and Ron and Ginny were really too young to be good companions for Percy. It had also never occurred to George that Percy might be bent in the same way he and Fred were. It didn't seem to accord with his painfully precise personality, somehow, but when George stopped to think about it, perhaps much of Percy's behavior had been an attempt to repress longings that were likely to be judged dubious at the very best.

All of the week's musings passed through George's head in a flash as he sat on Percy's sofa and watched Percy's fingers, long and slim, wrap around his glass and raise it to his mouth.

Percy's face was flushed, though whether from the spicy food or the alcohol or something else, George couldn't be sure. He knew that his own face was likewise warm, and in his case it was because he was imagining what those fingers might feel like, touching him. He hadn't had more than a wank since Fred had been gone; it seemed somehow disloyal to his twin to mess about with someone else so soon. But this was _Percy_ , also his brother, as lonely as himself, and George was sure that Fred would understand. He took a large gulp of his beer to strengthen his courage, set the glass aside, and leaned over to put his hand on Percy's knee. Percy made a soft noise and looked at George. The light caught his glasses, reflecting from them so that George couldn't see his eyes. With his other hand, George lifted the spectacles away from Percy's face, leaving Percy blinking hesitantly.

"You asked me here to talk, but do we really need to?" George asked.

"Perhaps not... now." Percy gasped again as George slid his hand upward along Percy's thigh.

"Good." George's cock was stirring. He moved to kneel over Percy, his knees on either side of Percy's hips, sitting on his lap. Percy's arms came around his waist as George bent his head to kiss his brother.

Percy tasted of beer and curry. He licked into George's mouth, sucking on his tongue so that George shivered and pressed his hips a little closer.

It had been so long -- nearly a year -- since anyone had touched George beside himself that it felt strange. Or perhaps the strangeness was partly because it had always before been Fred who had touched him, and Fred knew George almost better than he did himself. Having Percy's unfamiliar hands on his skin was exciting in a way that was different from how it had been with Fred. George heard himself give an embarrassing squeak when one of Percy's hands slid under his shirt and a fingernail scraped lightly across his nipple.

Percy hummed in his throat and repeated the gesture, then treated George's other nipple to the same not-quite-painful pinch.

They had been still kissing, but now Percy broke away to look down as he began to unfasten George's trousers, telling him, "Lift up," so that he could yank trousers and pants together halfway down George's thighs.

"You, too," said George hoarsely, and Percy raised his hips to let George awkwardly pull away his clothes. To George's bemusement, Percy was wearing nothing under his trousers.

Percy caught his gaze and gave him a flushed and lopsided smile.

"I don't usually, but I hoped..."

Percy's cock, like the rest of him, was longer but slenderer than George's. Fred's had been almost identical; they had argued about an eighth of an inch for years. George wondered how it would feel to have Percy inside his arse, deeper than Fred had ever gone. He wasn't sure he wanted that quite yet, but sometime... sometime _soon_ , he decided as he reached for it and began to stroke.

"No -- come here --" Percy reached for George's hips and pulled him closer so that their two pricks touched. " _Accio_ lube."

Within a moment Percy had a palm full of the slippery stuff and was working their cocks together, his eyes nearly closed in concentration. George flexed his thighs and arse, rubbing his prick against Percy's in the channel of Percy's hand. The heat was building up in his bollocks, tension winding tighter and tighter at the base of his spine. He kept his eyes open with an effort, fixing them firmly on Percy's face, sweaty and desperate.

"Come on," Percy said, panting. "Come on, George, need you, please..."

The blood was pounding in George's ears and throbbing through his cock as Percy spoke, his slick fingers rubbing harder-faster-rougher- _more_ , but it was hearing Percy say, "Come with me, little brother," that sent him over the edge, his spunk splattering onto Percy's chest in strands of creamy white. He was still trembling with the force of it when he felt the warm wetness of Percy's semen against his own skin.

George collapsed against his brother's chest, hearing the pounding of Percy's heart against his remaining ear. Percy wriggled his hand from out between them and put it around George, holding him close.

"I know I'm not Fred," said Percy after a while. "But I love you."

Pressing a kiss to Percy's shoulder, George said, "I love you, too, Percy."  


**Author's Note:**

> The title is a deliberate misquotation from Tom Lehrer's song, "Oedipus Rex."


End file.
